For monarchs ill can rivals brook, Even in a word, or smile, or look. Strait took he forth the parchment broad, Which Marmion's high commission show'd: "Our Borders sack'd by many a raid, Our peaceful liege-men robb'd," he said; Stout Barton kill'd, his vessels ta'en- Should these for vengeance cry in vain ; Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, Our herald has to Henry borne.". XIV. He paused, and led where Douglas stood, And with stern eye the pageant view'd : I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, Who coronet of Angus bore, And, when his blood and heart were high, Did the third James in camp defy, And all his minions led to die On Lauder's dreary flat : Princes and favourites long grew tame, And trembled at the homely name Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat; The same who left the dusky vale Its dungeons, and its towers, Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air, And Bothwell bank is blooming fair, To fix his princely bowers. Though now, in age, he had laid down His armour for the peaceful gown, And for a staff his brand; Yet often would flash forth the fire, That could, in youth, a monarch's ire And even that day, at council board, And chafed his royal Lord. XV. His giant-form, like ruin'd tower, Though fall'n its muscles' brawny vaunt, Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt, His eye-brows kept their sable hue. Until my herald come again.— Then rest you in Tantallon Hold; A chief unlike his sires of old. He wears their motto on his blade, Yet loves his sovereign to oppose, More than to face his country's foes. And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen, But e'en this morn to me was given A prize, the first fruits of the war, Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, A bevy of the maids of heaven. Under your guard these holy maids Shall safe return to cloister shades, And, while they at Tantallon stay, Requiem for Cochran's soul may say." And, with the slaughter'd favourite's name, Across the Monarch's brow there came A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame. XVI. In answer nought could Angus speak; His proud heart swell'd well nigh to break: He turn'd aside, and down his cheek A burning tear there stole. His hand the Monarch sudden took, That sight his kind heart could not brook : "Now, by the Bruce's soul, Angus, my hasty speech forgive! For sure as doth his spirit live, As he said of the Douglas old, I well may say of you, That never king did subject hold, In speech more free, in war more bold, Forgive me, Douglas, once again."- The old man's tears fell down like rain. But woe awaits a country, when She sees the tears of bearded men. * O Dowglas! Dowglas! Tendir and trew. The Houlate. |